


They Grant Us Sudden Days

by KipDigress



Series: Loose ends may tie themselves [4]
Category: Torchwood, due South
Genre: Gen, a little odd, unwelcome truths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-17 14:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15463407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KipDigress/pseuds/KipDigress
Summary: Transferred to the far north (Inuvik), nothing seems particularly out of place until a passing acquaintance turns up and then disappears. Maggie and Ray visit, questions are asked, answered and a conundrum is solved. Fraser's interference changes lives for the better. In the end, everything changes and nothing changes.NB: this is really a Due South story, Jack Harkness (from Torchwood) just walks in half way through and is subjected to what might be described as fairly typical Fraser treatment.





	1. Departures

**Author's Note:**

> It is time that my Meg and Fraser have a proper adventure and I wanted to imagine what it is like for Fraser and Meg to work together in the far north - few people here seem to have got so far. This is somewhat shorter than I would have liked, but has sat on my computer for six months, so I have finally decided to post it as it stands and complete the series rather than try to find time, energy and inspiration to write more.
> 
> I should warn you that this gets a little odd and rather more contrived than my usual - blame lack of inspiration and a Torchwood binge, but this is definitely a Due South story.
> 
> Title from 'The Verdicts' by Rudyard Kipling.

Sergeant Benton Fraser, RCMP took a last look around the cabin he called home, running through the mental checklist of everything he would need for a three week stint instructing at the RCMP's Depot division in Regina. Unlike many of the instructors, if he left something behind, it couldn't easily be collected, delivered or posted since even without adverse weather the journey was a long day. He nodded to himself and swung his pack up onto one shoulder.

"Come on," he murmured and a patter of feet heralded the appearance of two noses followed by four eyes and ears and finishing with two tails.

He waited a moment before nodding once more and leading the way out of the door. He locked it behind them and put the key on the ledge just above head height. It wasn't safe, but it didn't need to be, the only purpose of locking the door was to keep children out (mostly) and animals in (occasionally).

"Just got to see Meg, then we'll be off," he said softly when the dogs paused at the bottom of the steps. They turned left and loped off, Fraser following more slowly in their wake. By the time he reached the RCMP detachment building, Superintendent Meg Thatcher, his wife and commanding officer was standing on the porch next to the door. She watched her husband approach, amused by his slight discomfort when he became aware that he was being watched.

By her feet sat three dogs; Pearson and Clark who would be going with Fraser and her own dog, Eliza. Eliza whined, seeing Fraser's rucksack. "I know," Meg murmured, "I'd rather he didn't go either."

She brought a small smile to her lips as Fraser neared; there was no way she was going to let him know that she had even considered the thought that a promise, engraved on three gold bands, could be broken.

"Everything sorted?" she asked when Fraser joined her on the porch.

"Yes," Fraser replied, "the key's in the usual place."

"A fine example of home security we set," Meg murmured wryly, "lock up and leave the key in the most obvious place imaginable."

Fraser shrugged. "That depends on the reason for locking up." He sighed and settled his rucksack more comfortably. "I should be going, Grant won't wait forever and it's a long journey to Regina."

"I know." Meg raised her face to meet her husband's eyes. "Take care, and I will see you when you get back in three weeks," she said as evenly as she could. She didn't expect to hear from him and didn't see the point in asking. They each could look after themselves and knew that; requiring confirmation of safe arrival was a pointless exercise.

"We'll miss you, _I'll_ miss you," Fraser said, taking Meg's left hand in his and rubbing his thumb gently over her rings.

Eliza barked once and Meg nodded. "You'll be back soon enough," she said, pragmatically.

"Well, I must be going," Fraser said ruefully after glancing at his watch. He stepped closer and pulled his wife into a tight hug, breathing in her unique scent. "OK?" he asked softly, seeing Meg's sad gaze as he drew back slightly.

"Yes," Meg managed, her voice sounding small and uncertain to her own ears.

"Maintiens le droit, avec tout ton cœur," Fraser whispered before he drew Meg to him again for a last lingering kiss. Meg nodded once when he released her, squeezed his hand gently and let him go.

Fraser turned and set off down the street but the dogs waited a moment, looking up at Meg expectantly. She knelt to bring herself to their level. "You look after him," she instructed. Two sharp barks of agreement and the two dogs too were gone, racing after Fraser. "It's just you and me, 'Liza," Meg said sadly, still kneeling on the boards of the porch. Eliza whined and padded over to rest her head on Meg's shoulder.


	2. An Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: this starts a bit over 3 weeks before chapter 1. I could change the tenses etc., but am too lazy to: this has hung around for long enough so I'll add a clarifying note [this] instead. Maybe one day I'll review and rewrite the first few paragraphs.

Al didn't really sleep the night of the end of her London contract, she caught the Caledonian Sleeper from Euston at half past eleven and dozed away the hours until its arrival at Glasgow Central station gave her an excuse to be more or less awake. Ten minutes brisk walk and she made her acquaintance with Glasgow Queen Street station from which she was due to leave shortly after eight. Her plans were laid, and she was confident that there would not be much waiting around once she got to Oban. She bought a couple of pastries for breakfast - supremely unhealthy she knew, but she didn't plan to eat properly for at least a week - and sat in the cool spring sunshine bathing the square as she ate.

Five days later, she sat on a rough outcropping that she knew she could not pinpoint on either of the two maps she carried. It didn't worry her, knowing that she was more or less lost: the sea was on her right, as it had been all week, and, so long as she kept it there, or turned left to follow along one of the ridges she had been doggedly walking up and down for the last day, she would return to civilisation soon enough. Her mind drifted back to that strange afternoon, almost nine months earlier, when she'd felt more out of sorts than she knew she had had any right to feel: with all the advantages of comparative wealth, good education and personal freedom, she really hadn't had anything to complain of.

Perspective: that's what that day had given her - perspective on her work. Now sitting on a hard rock, more than a few kilometres of steep and pathless land between her and the next human, she was trying to gain perspective on her life. But it wasn't really working, she realised ruefully, she was still within a land and a culture that she was familiar and comfortable with: while it was not anything like any of the places she'd been familiar with while growing up, she knew some of the legends, had read of the people and was conversant with at least fragments of the area's history. Going somewhere completely alien to her was the only way that she would be pulled far enough out of her comfort zone to gain the perspective she knew she needed.

But where to? She thought again of the two Canadians - Fraser and Meg - who had broken every unspoken rule of London to speak to her on London Bridge the previous September. Perhaps Canada would be far enough away to pull her out of her self-indulgent introspection. It would be expensive, she knew, the more so if she went almost as soon as she could, but she had lived so far within her means for the past couple of years that she certainly could afford it. It wasn't the most adventurous or daring thing that she could do, of that she was well aware, particularly since her French was passable and Canada had once formed part of the British empire and was still a member of the Commonwealth, but she had never been so far away from home before.

A decision made, she shouldered her rucksack and picked her way down the next slope without bothering to consult the map.

Two and a half weeks later, she hauled her rucksack unceremoniously off a luggage carousel, settled it comfortably on her shoulders and walked out of Edmonton's airport.

If she had remembered correctly, this was where Inspector Meg Thatcher, RCMP, had been posted to when they'd met in September; but even if she hadn't taken the transfer to Inuvik or Ivujivik or Iqaluit - Al had tried to work out the place, but had only been able to narrow it down to three possibilities and had decided to visit Inuvik - it was unlikely that their paths would cross or that Meg would remember her if they did chance to meet. She did not doubt that Meg would be busy; Al was not going to intrude on the inspector's time without good cause and their passing acquaintance did not provide sufficient reason so while she would be happy to see the Frasers, she would not deliberately seek them out.

After three weeks of what she privately thought of as 'boringly civilised' travelling, visiting various towns and some of the more standard scenic areas, Al boarded a small plane to Inuvik. She was one of two passengers, and had watched with amusement as all sorts of boxes, crates and loose items were loaded carefully with her rucksack tossed unceremoniously on the top. The maps she had studied before coming had indicated that Inuvik was isolated with the only really practical means of access being by aeroplane - and small ones at that. Though she had no fear of flying, this was a much smaller plane than any she had taken before; she hoped they would not encounter too much turbulence.

"Buckle up," the pilot said; Al swallowed and complied.

Several hours of, thankfully calm, flying later, she stepped carefully down from the plane and turned to accept her bag from the pilot.

She slung it over one shoulder and walked a few steps, just enough to take herself out of the way of the unloading of the plane. She looked around, taking it all in: the green pines, the long, low buildings that seemed to incorporate hangers, storage and a small lobby, the slightly rough ground underfoot, a far cry from the even surface of the larger airports. Clearly the runway was the only part of the airport that was important enough to require careful maintenance: Al thought it a sensible arrangement. The proximity of the aeroplane left a slight tang of fuel and rubber in the air and Al decided that her next stop was the lobby.

On the flight, she had considered how to get from the airport to the town; it was a few kilometres, and since she was far enough north that it didn't get properly dark in June, she knew she could just walk it. But that level of independence would isolate her immediately, and in such a small town, too much independence could not help, even though she was only staying for five days. So she'd decided on a taxi - or whatever passed for a taxi - to town. 

The lobby area was empty when she entered, dropping her pack on a chair, she made use of the toilet; by the time she returned, a dark haired man, not much taller than her was stood leaning on the desk, eying her pack suspiciously.

"Afternoon, miss," he said.

Al cleared her throat before returning his greeting. "I'm staying in Inuvik for a few days," she said, by way of introduction, "is it possible to get a taxi - or something similar - to there?" She blushed, unsure of whether 'taxi' was the right description.

"If you can wait ten years, there might be a taxi," came the sarcastic reply, "but," and a small smile graced his lips, "if you are not in too much of a hurry, Chris should be out in ten minutes or so to pick up some of the supplies; I'm sure he'll find a way to squeeze you in."

"I have time," Al said with a grateful smile, "thank you."

"No worries." He nodded once more and left Al on her own. She pulled her book out of her pocket and settled herself on one of the hard chairs to wait for Chris's appearance, uncertain of how long ten minutes would be.

Ten minutes turned out to be twenty but, since that had included loading the supplies into what turned out to be an RCMP truck, it seemed that Chris's arrival had probably been around the ten minutes mark. Brief introductions were made and soon they were driving towards the small town. Al's accommodation was most of the way through the town, and Chris asked if it was OK if they stopped briefly at the detachment: a letter had arrived for his commanding officer that he wanted to hand over before the superintendent went home for the day. Since she wasn't in any hurry, Al agreed.

She asked a few questions on the short drive, trying to gauge the general attitude towards visitors, and the viability of some walking; it turned out there were some good trails, and no one would object to deviations.

"It's a pity the sergeant's away in Regina," Chris said with a shake of his head and a small smile that Al could only interpret as fond amusement mixed with admiration, "he's only been here for a few months, but I would swear he knows the land as well as anyone who has walked it since they were born, and whose ancestors walked it for generations before them; he seems perfectly happy to play tour guide while not shirking his duties."

Al stored the fact away; it seemed that the police might be more receptive to helping visitors than the other inhabitants.

Half an hour later, she had settled into her comfortable room at the lodge, and decided it was time for something to eat. Following the directions provided by her host, she walked slowly through the town to one of the several places that served food, looking around her as she walked, but not paying too much attention to those she passed.

Forty minutes earlier, Superintendent Meg Thatcher had been about to go home when Chris, one of the constables at the detachment, popped in on his way back from the airport with a letter. As Chris had less than half an hour before, she recognised the handwriting immediately: Sergeant Benton Fraser's. Despite seeing nothing that indicated any particular urgency, she switched her desk lamp back on and carefully opened the letter, a single sheet of paper folded in on itself to form both letter and envelope.

"It's from Benton," she said softly in reply to a disgruntled whine from the dog standing expectantly by the door. The dog gave a soft woof of acknowledgement and apology and sat, prepared to wait. "He says that all is well in Regina, and that Maggie and Ray may be coming back with him, so we should be prepared for guests."

Meg carefully refolded the letter and shook her head with a soft smile: typical old-fashioned Fraser, electing to risk the vagaries of the post over the telephone. She could see his point though, the telephone had to be answered immediately, potentially pulling an officer from more useful work, and not all of what was written could have been said when using one of the pay phones in the Depot's common areas.

Preparing to leave for the second time that evening, day, she corrected herself, there really wasn't evening in Inuvik at this time of year and she still hadn't quite got her head around it, Meg tucked the letter carefully into the inside pocket of her light jacket. She saw Chris's truck parked outside the doctor's house a few doors away so didn't bother locking up; he would be back soon and the place was quiet enough. She closed the door behind her, amused by Eliza's prancing.

"OK," she said, "we'll run." They both jumped down the four steps to street level and took off at a quick jog. Just before they turned off the main street, Meg saw a woman she did not recognise, although something about her seemed familiar. Visitors were not too unusual in the summer months, so she didn't think anything more of it and, given the way visitors were usually discussed, she would find out about her soon enough.

Two mornings later she had some answers about the visitor: British, possibly English, but she hadn't said more about her origins than that she had spent the last three years working in London - always, apparently, with a shudder; decided to visit Inuvik almost on a whim - somewhere out of the way; had spent the morning exploring the town before walking about fifteen kilometres in the afternoon. Fairly eccentric, but harmless, Meg thought, dismissed Chris and continued reviewing the detailed notes that Benton had made as a preliminary report on two unexplained disappearances that had occurred the previous summer.

She read the reports, intrigued at first, but with a deepening frown as she continued. Her husband's reports were usually clear and to the point, despite their physical length, but these two disappearances did not make sense. She shook her head, confused and returned to the first page. She read the report twice more before laying it aside; something wasn't right, but she couldn't identify what; perhaps she would figure it out, perhaps she wouldn't. She was starting to understand the reasoning behind her husband's sometimes annoying level of attention to detail: when she hadn't been involved with Benton's work it had lead to what she had deemed as unnecessarily long, wordy reports which she had had to read, now that she was involved with the cases, and not just the fall out, she appreciated the detail. Benton had obviously developed a habit of writing reports that were as detailed as working notes.

She slipped the notes back into their folder and placed the folder to one side, knowing she would return to it later, after she had let the information settle. They were old cases, something to deal with in due course; for now she would have to be up to date for when she and Benton found time to discuss the missing visitors. She wrote a single word on a sticky note which she stuck on the folder and turned her attention to the following month's rota, cross-checking the leave requests that had been submitted, making sure that there would always be enough officers on hand. She sighed, inconveniently there were two consecutive weekends where they would be understaffed in Inuvik. She could pull in an officer or two from one of the other towns under her command, but that would leave them understaffed. She picked up her phone and sent a text message to her sister-in-law, hoping that her superior officer was a little less organised.


	3. Treading untrodden ground

Al enjoyed exploring around Inuvik, although, even with a map and compass, it was disconcerting at first. She was used to wide open spaces where she could see for miles while here the visibility was often less than a hundred metres. Many 'outdoorsy people' at home had complained about conifer forests, remarking on their darkness and the lack of undergrowth. But they were thinking only of the monoculture plantations that had been planted after the wars. Here, the growth was more natural; the spacing between trees uneven although the trees were very much of an age. Enough light reached the forest floor for shrubs and grass to grow, although great clumps of dry lichen dominated on the bare rock outcrops.

Her first afternoon had taken her south and west of the town; the maintained trail providing a useful means of orientation and an unmissable feature while she adjusted from a windswept wilderness to a shaded one. The second day she turned east, buying lunch from the general store in the morning and sharing a sketch of her general plan, remembering that it was always a good idea to let someone know where you were going. She was so focussed on the map that she missed the storekeeper's frown when she explained her proposed route.

Setting off in the cool of the morning, Al reluctantly dragged her thoughts back to her impending return to the UK. She had another three days in Inuvik before she started on the journey home, but then she had to make a decision about her future. She had been putting off even thinking about it for far too long.

She followed her planned route, nothing too complicated, meandering along the line of a stream steadily heading a little north of east. She was suddenly homesick; the ground beneath her feet was covered with many coloured plants and flowers, yet she could not name a single one. She wasn't much good at, or interested in, botany, but even so, her grandparents had told her the names of many of the flowers that grew in the hedgerows and fields so often that a fair number had stuck. Since the exercise had occurred both when her grandparents visited her parents at the foot of the chalk downs in the south-east of England and when her parents had taken her and her brother to visit them in Yorkshire, she could reckon on identifying a good dozen plants in most habitats in Britain. Well, she thought, that's one thing settled; I want to be back home, or at least in Europe.

While Al was enjoying trudging through the wilderness, Meg Thatcher was not enjoying trudging through her husband's detailed notes for the fourth time in two days. Precise as they were, there seemed to be no clear pattern to the original reports and she was surprised that his observations did nothing to alleviate the confusion. She slammed the thick block of papers down on her desk with frustration, earning herself a reproachful glare from Eliza.

Before she could turn her attention to something else, Chris knocked gingerly at her office door.

"Yes," she said rather more sharply than she intended. "Come in, Chris," she added more gently, forcing herself to smile even though she was sure it appeared more as a grimace.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Ma'am, but I saw Steven on my way back from lunch, and he said that the Grey's English visitor was headed up Carter Stream." Meg frowned, confused. "It's where the two tourists who disappeared last summer were headed," Chris explained without being prompted.

"Thank you, constable," Meg said crisply, suddenly aware of how much she relied on her husband's ability to remember seemingly trivial details as well as vast quantities of general information. "Dismissed," she added a moment later, when Chris seemed uncertain whether to leave or not.

As the door closed behind the constable, Eliza whined.

"What is it?" Meg asked, and Eliza tilted her head in reply. Meg looked back at the notes: there, on the front page, so obvious that she'd skipped over them the first three times, three points were written in Fraser's neat script: 'Not Canadians'; 'Last reported direction Carter Stream'; 'No trace in that direction, 2 days after last sighting'.

"Oh dear," she breathed, suddenly worried. "When's Benton due back?" Eliza gave three soft yips. "Three days will be too long, if the same pattern is followed," Meg murmured sadly, feeling almost as powerless than when she had to sit and quietly watch while twenty innocent women were condemned to death for 'treason' while all they had done was recognise that there was a world beyond the town in which they lived.

She paced. Benton's notes had appeared incomprehensible because even though he could work on the smallest amount of evidence, he still needed something to base a trail upon. Here, there was nothing; just the last advertised intention - which may or may not have been followed. And now the stranger was headed in the same direction. Grabbing her hat, as she passed, she wrenched the door open and stepped through, waiting a moment for Eliza to catch up.

"Back soon," she told Chris as she walked briskly through the outer office, for the first time in nearly seventeen days, not glancing at her husband's empty desk as she passed. Once outside, she jumped down the steps and set off at a run, not quite flat out, but much faster than her pace the previous evening. If she couldn't track the missing person - and Benton's absence had left the detachment without anyone whose tracking skills were even on the border of competent, she could at least gather as much background information as she could.

Ten minutes later she stood panting outside where the stranger was staying. She paused briefly to catch her breath before she knocked.

"Mr Grey," she said hurriedly, when the door was answered, "your current guests, where are they from?"

"Come in, Superintendent," Mr James Grey, short, thin and, appropriately, greying, said with a welcoming smile, leaving Meg with no option but to comply. "Now, what have you run half way across town to ask me?" he asked once the door was closed behind her.

"Where are your current guests from?" Meg asked a little more calmly, refusing to satisfy the man's thinly veiled curiosity.

"Let me see," Mr Grey went through to the kitchen where he kept the room keys and the paperwork for his current guests. Meg followed, Eliza close at her heels. He took down the guestbook and placed it gently on the table, leafing through it slowly until he came to the current page. "Ah, yes, Susanne, Manitoba; Karl, Yellowknife; Aldabella - strange name that, England, she doesn't say much."

Meg could feel her face blanch: it was almost certainly Al, the young woman she and Benton had met in London on their honeymoon nine months earlier. The name was so peculiar, it was nigh on impossible to forget.

"Thank you, Mr Grey," she said and dashed off without another word. Fifteen minutes later, she was back in her office, pacing. She desperately wished for Benton, but knew that there was no point trying to contact him. A soft yip from Eliza reminded her of Buck Frobisher, even if he couldn't actively help her, he would listen and provide an outside opinion, not to mention that his thirty-five odd years on the force, mostly at wilderness postings, was not a level of experience to dismiss out of hand.

"It's not confirmed, yet," she told Eliza, trying to reassure herself - fool herself she admitted secretly - that Al hadn't become the last in a line of mysterious disappearances.

She slept badly that night and struggled to concentrate the following day as suspicions and fears that she could not voice grew in her mind. When the three constables returned from lunch, she dared to ask directly whether anything had been heard about the English visitor, but nothing had. Given the rate at which information spread - really gossip seemed to be the only thing keeping the library standing, let alone in business - it seemed peculiar to Meg that whether or not a visitor had returned safely was not general knowledge, especially when their route had something approaching a reputation.

When the office phone rang just after five, Meg looked up, half hopeful of some distraction. She noticed Chris's smile when he answered, but she could do nothing other than nod when he tilted his head to ask if she would take the call. When she answered, she found it provided a large measure of relief: it was her husband, phoning from Yellowknife to say that he'd persuaded the nephew of one of Buck's protegés to drop him off in Inuvik on his way up to Tuktoyaktuk. It had all been rather last minute, and they'd only just received clearance for the unscheduled stop. Although Meg tried to keep the worry out of her voice, Benton knew her moods so well that she had to remind him that the plane was due to leave in order to prevent him from starting a full scale interrogation by phone.

After hanging up, she calculated how long until she could drive down to the airport to meet the plane. Hearing the murmur that indicated the end of the day, she stirred herself.

"Before you go," she said, interrupting the flow of conversation, although her motions had been observed so she knew the interruption was not unexpected. Three pairs of eyes turned towards her. "Before you go," she repeated, "and to prevent any unnecessary scenes tomorrow morning," she glanced at the youngest constable Nathan who had graduated from the Depot a month after Fraser and Meg's transfer to Inuvik and had the grace to blush at the memory of the squeal he had given towards the end of his third week when Fraser had returned unharmed but unannounced and with apprehended poacher following despondently in his footsteps after a four day absence - two days longer than anticipated. "Sergeant Fraser's flying in tonight, so anything that's out of place will be spotted tomorrow." Now it was Chris' and Alice's turn to blush for the state of disarray Fraser and Meg had been welcomed by.

Meg returned to her office to run over what she knew of Al's disappearance. Before settling herself to reviewing the notes, she glanced up out at the main office, noting with amusement that the three constables had put their plans of escape on hold in favour of a thorough tidy up. Sergeant Fraser insisted on keeping the main office properly organised, drilling it into the constables that if things - particularly emergency equipment - weren't where they were meant to be, then there was little point in having them. In fact, he'd sometimes add, it was worse than not having them because one wasted valuable time trying to find something that one was sure one had _somewhere_ when rigging up something that would get the job done would take a quarter of the time and maybe save a life in the process.

At quarter past seven exactly, Meg stepped down onto the tarmac near the end of the runway. She stopped a minute to feel the light breeze on her cheek and looked up to the sky, strands hair drifting forwards as she searched for the incoming plane. Soon enough she saw it and she remained as still as she could while it landed and taxied to a halt. Once the plane was stationary, she walked casually towards it, forcing herself to maintain her decorum and not follow Eliza's example as she raced across the tarmac to be met by Pearson and Clark a few metres from the plane.

She kept her eyes on her husband as he approached, noting the strain in the stiffness in his walk and the twinge he could not - or did not - disguise when he stood up from greeting the eager dogs. The past three weeks had been hard on him, that much was clear. She remembered when she'd met him at the Depot, avoiding everyone as much as possible, and suspected that his more regular footing and the rapidly vanishing vestiges of his disgrace had been forcing him to spend more time being sociable than he was truly comfortable with.

Fraser stopped just within arm's reach, eyes questioning as they met her steady gaze. Meg held out her left hand, and he took it, interlacing their fingers.

"I missed you," Meg said quietly with a small smile.

"Me too," Fraser murmured, his voice heavy with the relief of being back.

Meg stepped forward half a step and was immediately pulled close into a firm hug, their joined hands close against Fraser's heart. She rested her head against Benton's shoulder, listening to his steady heartbeat and feeling her loneliness of the past three weeks gradually dissipate. A dog barked impatiently and she heard Benton's light laugh above her head.

"Someone thinks dinner should be a priority," Fraser remarked softly, his grip slackening though he didn't move otherwise.

"Mmm," Meg agreed, feeling sleepy and disinclined to move.

They stood still for another long moment before Meg sighed and Fraser dropped his arm from around her shoulders to walk beside her back to the truck.

"So, what news?" Meg asked once they were on their way back to the town.

"Not much, recruits still as they ever were. Maggie and Ray are coming the day after tomorrow."

"Time?" Meg asked, running timings and possibilities through her head as quickly as she could given the uncertainty surrounding Al's disappearance.

"Lunchtime," Fraser replied brusquely, and she nodded, recognising one of the semi-regular flights from Yellowknife.

They ate dinner and washed up without saying much, content for a while to ignore the worry that betrayed by Meg's every move and her gaze.

"Now, Meg, what's bothering you?" Fraser asked.

Meg hadn't been certain how to explain Al's disappearance to Fraser - she'd spent most of the time between finding out about Fraser's immanent return and his arrival trying to work out what to say, but with little success. In the ed, after a few seconds to compose her thoughts, she started with the files Fraser had left for her and once she had started, it all came out quite smoothly with Fraser asking the occasional question to elucidate a particular point.

They sat in silence once she had finished.

"I should go," Benton said with a barely suppressed sigh.

"No," Meg said, her voice sharp. "Wait until the morning, you're too tired and it's not been confirmed."

"But she could be..." Fraser started to object.

"Don't make me make this an order, Sergeant." Years before Meg would have snapped out the threat, now she just whispered it softly.

"Yes, Ma'am," Fraser murmured, resigned. He placed a kiss on Meg's forehead before murmuring a single word: "bed," and leading Meg gently up the stairs. They didn't say much, they were both tired out.

"I love you, Meg Thatcher," Fraser murmured once they were curled up comfortably.

"And I you, Benton Fraser," Meg whispered back. She sighed contentedly, "I'm looking forward to sleeping properly for the first time in three weeks," she murmured, her voice so soft Benton could only be certain he'd heard the words because he'd felt Meg's cheek move against his shoulder.

"Me too," he managed before sleep overtook him.

Meg slept soundly, and woke with a groan when Fraser got up at 6 am. It was hardly unexpected, so she didn't complain when half an hour later he brought her a mug of coffee and kissed her goodbye without further explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to Canada so landscape description and access rights etc. are entirely fictional with a little bit of background from Google maps.


	4. Not written in code

A little over an hour and a half after Benton's departure with the dogs, Meg was disturbed from her half-hearted attempts at completing the month's budget by Chris's tentative knock.

"Come in, Chris," she said, laying her pen down with a small sigh.

"Ma'am, this was on the steps," he said as he entered, holding out a plain white envelope, addressed to her: 'Spt. M. R. Thatcher'.

"Thank you," Meg said with a small smile as she took the offered letter. "Dismissed," she added when he seemed uncertain whether to stay or leave.

Meg examined the envelope carefully: no markings other than her name, and that was written in biro, suggesting that there was a direct line between the writer and the deliverer, if the writer hadn't delivered it. The origin was almost certainly local. Not many people knew her second initial, though, and she didn't put it on business cards, which added to the likelihood of a local source, since introductions had often included her middle name: when they'd first arrived, Benton had said something about trust, openness and respect so in four months she'd said her middle name more often than in the preceding twenty years.

She pulled out her knife out of her shirt pocket and unfolded it. Slipping the blade under a corner of the flap, she carefully slid it along, slowly at first as she made sure she had not caught the paper inside, then faster once she was confident the contents would be undamaged.

The contents turned out to be a single folded sheet of paper. Spreading it out, she found that one side was blank, the other laser printed. The message was short:

_'Do not attempt to find l'étrangère, it will cause more harm than good. In time, they may return.'_

Meg read the note a second time, then a third. Much as she wished she could ignore it, she knew that she had no choice but to assume that the threat was real and serious. Benton was already out there; would the sender believe that he had departed before the note had been delivered? Maybe, but that was not something she could rely on.

"How do I get Benton to come back?" she murmured, her head in her hands.

Eliza looked up from her rug next to the door and barked.

"Of course, silly me," Meg said with a laugh. Eliza stood at the door, tail wagging, ready to go. "Wait a mo' 'Liza, I've got to write Benton a note so there's no doubt that you're telling the truth." Eliza whined, but did nothing more than jump up and pull the spare scarf down from its hook next to the door: even she couldn't deny that she had been known, on more than one occasion, to bring Benton home unnecessarily because Meg had been having a bad day; Benton would not trust her without a written note from Meg confirming the 'come home' message.

A few minutes later, Eliza, scarf tied securely round her neck and nose close to the ground bounded down the detachments' front steps and followed the route her father and brother had taken a couple of hours earlier. Their scents were still strong and she found their trail easily. Her progress much quicker than theirs had been, she turned off the road barely twenty minutes after leaving Meg.

Fraser groaned in frustration, despite the fact that the trail was less than a day old, even Pearson and Clark's sharp noses were struggling to pick up traces of Al. They'd found a few partial boot prints that Fraser judged to be about the right size and depth for the woman they'd met in London, but the ground was dry and it seemed that Al had sometimes consciously taken a few steps out of the straightest rout to avoid leaving prints.

The third place where she could have turned off the road looked more promising, and Clark was perhaps overly pleased with himself when he found a few strands of fibre that might, just, have come from a boot lace. Fraser made slow progress, even though he was becoming more confident that he had found the right path. A few broken branches and once a partial boot print indicated that someone had passed that way recently.

Looking forwards, he was surprised by noise behind; something moving fast and crashing heedlessly through the undergrowth. He gestured Pearson and Clark off to one side, put his light pack well out of the way, and stood carefully with his back against a stout tree trunk. A moment later, he saw the two dogs relax, although they didn't move. Seconds later Eliza burst into view. He knelt as Eliza trotted the last few steps to him. Slipping his fingers under the folds of the scarf tied around her neck, he pulled out the slip of paper from Meg. Eliza whined.

"No, you carried it here, you can carry it back," he said, half amused at the pleading look he was given before she realised that he was serious and turned away haughtily, tail high, to greet Pearson and Clark who were more sympathetic, if equally unmoving.

"Not good," he murmured after reading the note through. He refolded the paper carefully and put it into his pocket.

"Come on," he said out loud, "we're recalled to base."

The dogs darted off, seemingly determined to race the six or more kilometres back to the detachment. Benton followed more slowly, ruminating over the note and what it might mean. He hoped Al was safe.

The dogs followed the twisting path with ease, their noses to the ground as they traced their own scent backwards. Fraser looked up now and a again, trying to keep the dogs in sight. Catching the glimpse of a tail rounding a stand of trees, he frowned: two branches were bent slightly out of shape - nothing major, but they seemed to have been pulled down recently, maybe two days ago. He stopped to inspect them more closely.

"Pearson," he called, hoping that the oldest dog would bring the other two back with him. He heard a bark and was soon surrounded by the three panting dogs. 

"Look at this," he said, pointing to the branch he held in his hand.

Eliza gave a short yap, confused. She could see the scratches made in the bark: IXII, but they held no meaning.

"You're right, they could be anything," Fraser agreed, "but I think they're Roman numerals. Either nine two or one twelve. One hundred and twelve, that's an old hundredweight, but that should be CXII. Nine, two, nine, two; one, twelve, one twelve," he murmured to himself as he set off again. "One, twelve, one twelve. Ah, I've got it: A, L, Al." He stopped dead in his tracks. "She's a clever girl, perhaps too clever. Marking her trail in a way that is not immediately recognisable and specifically for use on the way back. Still faster to follow your noses though," he added with a grin to the bemused dogs.

They set off again at a gentle jog, Benton keeping his eyes open and noticing the pattern in the trail markers: when the easiest way through the woods was fairly obvious they were well spaced, where trails split or the route changed directly dramatically, several would appear close together. He stopped a few more times and inspected the markers, wondering whether there was any other information in any of the markers, but they were all the same.

Once they reached the road, Fraser gave a nod and the dogs took off, racing for home. He stopped for a few minutes, catching his breath, taking a drink of water and digging out a sliver of pemmican. He walked along slowly as he chewed. He was getting old, he couldn't deny it. Some of his worst injuries ached more often and he grew tired more easily. Once he would have run home without a pause, now, he knew that if he didn't take a few minutes rest, Meg would be annoyed - and with good reason, he thought with soft snort and a fond smile. Feeling undeniably better for the respite and the snack, he picked up his pace and ran the last few kilometres back to Inuvik.

He half expected Meg to meet him with the truck before he reached the town - the dogs would have reached the detachment and told Meg where he was coming from after all. But there was no one, so he ran on. Turning the last corner, his relief at the end of the journey was tempered by worry: the road outside the detachment was blocked with cars and both ambulances were there, lights flashing, throwing surreal coloured streaks across the scene.

"Thank goodness you're here," Mr. Grey greeted Fraser, without waiting for him to catch his breath.

"What happened?" Fraser gasped, eyes darting in all directions trying to find his wife and the three dogs.

"No one's quite sure, you'll have to ask the Superintendent."

"Is she OK? Is anyone hurt?" Fraser knew he was speaking too quickly, the panic he felt in his heart bleeding through as unprofessional panic in his voice.

"Chris has a broken arm, but apart from that I think everyone's OK." Fraser was in motion before Mr Grey finished his sentence. Now he knew what to look for, he saw the young constable sitting by one of the ambulances, being tended by a paramedic.

"I must find the Superintendent, where is she?" He accosted a shaken looking Alice, without preamble. "I'm sorry," he added more softly, seeing her jump at his harried tone. She was bravely keeping one of the two cordons that formed formal barriers to do something to isolate the detachment as a crime scene.

"It's OK," Alice replied after a moment. "She's inside."

Fraser nodded and walked cautiously into the detachment, feeling as if he was in some strange dream. On opening the inner door, he was greeted by a scene of destruction - something had clearly exploded in the middle of the main room, throwing debris everywhere and overturning the desks.

"Meg," he called out, keeping to the edge of the room to avoid contaminating the scene unnecessarily.

"Here Benton," came the welcome confirmation and Fraser had to resist the urge to dash across the room to where his wife stood, just visible beyond the broken glass of her office windows. "The dogs are fine too," Meg added, followed by three barks of confirmation.

"Can you get out?" Fraser asked.

"I think so," Meg replied cautiously, she hadn't tried before, concern for the integrity of any evidence. Half forgotten CSIS training had kicked in with the explosion, and with the dogs, she'd been reasonably comfortable - or at least fairly well comforted, while her colleagues, both police and medical, had done their best to deal with a situation well beyond their standard training or experience. She'd given instructions and advice when asked, but had insisted that she was fine and safe with the dogs.

She carefully cleared a narrow path through what had been her office wall, the dogs bounding through to jump up at Fraser in delight before she followed more carefully. A few final hurried steps and she was in the comfort and safety of her husband's arms. Fraser held her tightly for a few moments, before carefully guiding her out the door to join the dogs on the porch. He draped his jacket around her shoulders and sat next to her on the top step, keeping her tucked close to his side as she slowly told her story.

The cause of the explosion had been a package directed to Fraser. Chris had put it on corner of Fraser's desk closest to the door, but when the dogs returned, Clark had knocked it to the floor. From her place at her office door, Meg had been alerted by the strange rattle and when the package had hit the floor and had hidden under her desk with the dogs, calling out for the others to do the same. Chris hadn't quite been quick enough and a piece of wood thrown up from the floor had caught his arm as he returned to his desk after letting the dogs in.

"You saved everyone's life," Fraser said, kissing her temple.

Meg sighed. "It was too close for comfort, too much like CSIS."

"Hey," Fraser placed a gentle hand under Meg's chin and turned her face so he could meet her eyes. "We're all safe, they're all alive, because you recognised what it was." He placed a gentle kiss on her lips, comforting and reassuring them both.

"I could have lost you, Benton." Meg murmured, hiding her head against his chest. "It was meant for you - to at least put you out of action - if Clark hadn't been so clumsy..." she trailed off with a sniff.

"That line of thought won't get you anywhere," Fraser said sternly, "be thankful that he is so clumsy."

"Even if it means we get through crockery at an alarming rate," Meg's voice was still a bit shaky, but at least she was trying to make light of the situation. Fraser briefly tightened his hold and placed a kiss against her hair.

"We have a lot of clearing up to do," he remarked after a few minutes silence.

"Yes, although that has to wait until tomorrow. Forensics are flying in from Yellowknife, they'll work overnight. Maggie will be horrified, even if she doesn't see the entire mess."


	5. Four makes a team

Just before lunchtime the next day, Meg and Benton waited patiently as the plane taxied to a halt. The side door opened and a tall, dark haired man wearing a long coat jumped out without waiting for the steps. A moment later, a well worn rucksack was tossed out unceremoniously and with so much force that the man staggered slightly as he caught it. He ignored everyone, already talking loudly, although apparently to no one, before he had got the bag fully on his shoulders.

"Gwen, what have you got?" A pause, clearly some reply. "No, not really, two and a bit hours with a couple of screaming brats and a dog."

Meg glanced at her husband whose face was impassive though his posture had stiffened.

"Just tell me what I need to know so I can get out of here," the man said as his quick pace took him rapidly out of earshot.

Meg took her husband's hand and they walked forward to stand at the base of the steps that now led up to the aircraft.

"Uncle Benton!"

"Auntie Meg,"

Two small children, squealing indeed, climbed down the steps as quickly as they could, beaten by a dog that made a beeline for Meg who knelt to greet her, while the children mobbed their uncle. By the time Meg had stood up, Benton was laughing as he held a child in each arm, their arms round his neck. Meg placed quick kisses Robbie and Caroline's cheeks before she turned to help her sister-in-law and her husband with their luggage.

"Good journey?" she asked after shaking hands with Ray and receiving a hug from Maggie.

"So, so," Maggie said, looking up from where she was on the receiving end of the slightly more polite canine equivalent of her children's treatment of her brother.

"If travelling with two young kids can ever be a good journey, then yeah, it wasn't bad," Ray said dryly.

"What do you know about the man who seems in a hurry to leave?" Benton asked once the immediate greetings were over.

"Pilot said his passport is British, but his accent is clearly American," Maggie said.

"If he's British, then I'm Canadian," Ray said, causing Meg to roll her eyes.

They made their way across the tarmac and split into two parties for the drive back to town: Meg went with Maggie and the dogs; Fraser drove Ray and the two children.

"I must admit that somedays I am very glad I never did get around to having children," Meg said with a wry smile after listening to Maggie's account of the near impossibility of getting Robbie and Caroline to sit still once they knew a visit to their uncle was planned.

"Never let my brother hear that," Maggie shot back.

"Oh, he knows," Meg said, as lightly as she could although that particular series of late night conversations hadn't been the most comfortable. "We missed each other the first time we met; by the time our paths crossed again, it wasn't quite too late, but we were more cautious, perhaps too cautious."

"Since you came back, he's been the happiest I've known him," Maggie remarked, "and he dotes on Robbie and Caroline so I can't complain."

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the short drive.

"So, what's the plan," Ray asked, once they had unloaded the cars and had settled comfortably in the Fraser's main room. "Fraser here says that there's a missing person whom he fears may not make it back if he puts off searching for her for much longer."

"Yes," Meg confirmed tiredly, the detachment was still a shambles, despite the fact that forensics had been and gone by eight am.

"We should get going straight after lunch," Maggie said.

"No," Fraser countered. "Someone left a small explosive device at the detachment yesterday. It was meant to kill one person, me, when I opened the envelope. We have to make them believe that we're not doing anything."

"Oh my God," Maggie breathed, shooting horrified looks at her brother and her friend both of whom smiled weakly in return.

"We're OK, fortunately, klutz there can't keep his tail to himself," Meg said, nodding in Clark's direction. "Chris has a broken arm, but considering what could have happened, it's not too bad." Seeing Clark's contrite look, she beckoned him over and whispered praises and thanks in his ears, which were lapped up despite Eliza's disgusted look. Meg was glad that Eliza didn't make any further comment on the amount of attention that was being bestowed on the younger dog and hoped that the somewhat temperamental Eliza understood the enormity of the fate Clark had averted.

"So what're you gonna do?" Ray asked, "just sit here and do nothing?"

"Of course not," Meg said smiling in a way that made Ray very glad that he was not on the receiving end of Meg Thatcher's planning. "But we are going to practice a bit of deception."

"How so?" Ray enquired. "Or is this one of those situations where I really don't want to know?"

"Definitely the latter," Maggie said, catching Meg's eye and grinning, "but we're going to tell you anyway, just in case anything goes wrong."

"Great," Ray said, rolling his eyes. "And here I was thinking that I might manage to get a few days off from child minding duties."

"You love it really," Maggie pointed out, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Ray snorted, trying to not laugh. "Yeah, well..." he said, admitting defeat with a duck of his head as he failed to hide the grin that flashed across his face. Benton raised an eyebrow and was answered by a shrug from Maggie.

"So, what's the plan?" Ray asked, after a long moment's silence.

"Nothing so simple," Maggie said, "You're taking the kids on a road trip to look for some Caribou." 

"You'll just have a couple of stowaways for a few kilometres," Benton contributed.

"You mean three," Meg pointed out.

"Some one's got to stay here and keep the detachment running," Fraser objected.

"And I'm commanding officer," Meg said with a resigned sigh.

"In which case, I'm staying here too," Maggie said, a stubborn set to her jaw. "Benton will be fine on his own, and he'll have Pearson and Clark anyway."

Benton frowned, not entirely certain what to say, whether to admit to Maggie that he really would prefer the company or whether to make no mention of the fact that he really was starting to feel the truth of Buck Frobisher's words, so many years before, when he'd been warned about the persistent nature of the blade he'd taken in the leg - never mind the ancient broken leg, or the two bullets, one of which was still lodged in his back. Sometimes he wondered how he still remembered that seemingly mundane remark from the start of an extremely eventful day. He nodded slowly.

"I guess that's settled then," Ray interpreted Fraser's thoughtful nod as acquiescence.

"I guess so," Meg agreed, trying not to sound as disheartened as she felt.

"So," Maggie said, trying to sound cheerful, "I guess we'd all better get an early night if Ray and the kids are going to be off at what would be called the crack of dawn - if there was a dawn here at this time of year."

"I'll head over to the detachment and do the rounds," Meg said firmly, "I need to check on things anyway." Fraser followed her into the hallway as she left.

"Meg, I'm sorry you've had to stay behind," he murmured.

"Don't worry, Ben," Meg did not try to keep the sadness out of her voice as she reached up and rested a hand against her husband's cheek. "Yesterday has shaken all of us, my responsibility is to Chris and Alice and Inuvik, not just to Al."

"You never know, I might find something that really requires the presence of the most senior local officer," Fraser said with a twitch of the lips that told Meg that her husband was at least half serious.

"Get as much sleep as you can," she told him, "tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"Yes, Ma'am," Fraser didn't move, but Meg giggled slightly at the formal tone his voice had taken on. She gave him a kiss before letting herself out.


	6. Safe and sound

Clark came bounding up the detachment steps just as Meg opened the door. She held it open for the younger dog and turned to go back inside, the breath of fresh air she had been heading out for no longer relevant. She crouched down so she was at the dog's level.

"What is it?" she asked softly, and listened carefully to the dog's reply. "OK. 'Liza," she called. A yap and a scrabble of paws was greeted by a curse from one of the constables who clearly let her out of Meg's office and then through the door from the main room to the lobby. "Thanks," she said absently, omitting to reprimand the constable for swearing unnecessarily, as she grabbed her coat from the peg nearest the door and headed out at a quick run, Clark leading the way and Eliza close beside her.

"Fetch Maggie," she said after a few metres. Clark turned to go, "no, 'Liza go, she doesn't know the way to Benton and Maggie's faster than me." Both dogs barked and Eliza dashed off.

A couple of hours later, Benton rounded a thick stand of bushes and stopped dead. Not three metres ahead was the tall man who had arrived on the same flight as Maggie and, held close against his side, on her feet but clearly leaning against him for support, Al. Al's face was white and drawn, a scab slanting across her forehead, a dried line of blood trailing down her left cheek; her eyes slightly bloodshot and out of focus.

"Ah, you're one of the locals," the man said with a dismissive nod, glancing at Fraser's uniform shirt and holster, "otherwise known as what passes for the police around here," he added condescendingly. Fraser's only reply was to make a small gesture with his hand, in response to which Pearson sat a little to his right. "Well, you can just off and do whatever it is you do to keep the peace in this god-forsaken neck of the woods and leave this to me."

Pearson growled and Fraser shifted is weight slightly, considering the man in front of him. There was no way they could bring him in without a fight, and, given Al's current position and potential as either a bargaining chip or a hostage, starting an altercation was endangering her needlessly. Besides, the man opposite him was a fraction taller and a good fifteen years younger; even with Pearson's help, the outcome was not guaranteed. Instead, as he so often did, he talked:

"You know your attitude could be construed as rude," he remarked conversationally.

"So arrest me, or better yet, shoot me." Jack couldn't really care, he was tired, and the last few hours - days actually, but it had only been hours in Inuvik - had not been particularly easy.

Fraser stayed silent, watching, waiting, and Jack took the opportunity to take a proper look at the man standing a few metres away.

He was neatly dressed in a pale brown uniform shirt and ridiculous trousers with a broad yellow stripe down the outside of each leg. The pins on the epaulettes identified him formally as a policeman, though the meanings of most of his other badges were indecipherable. He looked to be about fifty, maybe a bit older, his hair greying, though clearly it had once been very dark, probably almost black. The man's hands hung loosely at his sides, unthreatening, although the holster on his hip was not clipped shut. Silence reigned for a long moment before rustling announced someone's approach and Jack shifted his hold on Al so he could drop her safely while drawing his gun if he needed to. He was slightly surprised when a woman, clearly another police officer, her uniform very similar to the man's, but dark blue, rounded the corner at a brisk jog, a second husky type dog a pace in front.

"What's going on?" she asked, slightly breathless as she came to a stop next to Benton. The dog took a single sniff of Jack from a respectful distance, barked loudly and jumped back to stand next to the first dog, tail upright and muscles quivering.

"Who are you?" the woman asked when neither man offered an explanation.

"Captain Jack Harkness, Ma'am," Jack said, with an easy smile that showed off his teeth. "I would offer you my hand, but I'm not certain that mister perfectly smart here or the mutts would appreciate it." Jack said with a carelessness that belied the sharpness in his eyes.

"Please don't," Meg said, a little sharply, aware, as Jack was, that Fraser had stiffened beside her. "It's very nice to meet you, Captain Harkness, but could you possibly explain what you're doing here with Al?"

"Ah, pretty and direct, that's my kind of woman," Jack said with an upwards tilt of his chin. "How do you know Al?" he asked, answering Meg's question with one of his own. "And who are you?" he added almost as an afterthought: it was hardly fair that they knew his name but he didn't know theirs.

"About nine months ago, they broke one of the unspoken and unwritten rules of London," Al said quietly, her voice harsh and cracked: it seemed the best way to prevent a full description of the strange two days nine months earlier.

"Hush," Jack said softly, shooting a concerned glance at her.

"Superintendent Meg Thatcher, RCMP, and this is Sergeant Benton Fraser, also RCMP." She glanced at Fraser who thumbed his nose. "Corporal Maggie Mackenzie should be along shortly," Meg added almost as an afterthought.

A second later, Jack was unbalanced as a third dog took a flying leap and hit him violently on the back, followed almost immediately by another, equal sized thump to almost the same spot. The Sergeant moved swiftly, taking hold of one arm while the Superintendent stepped in and pulled Al out of his grasp in the split second before a third, much larger body colliding with his back sent him to the floor, the Sergeant letting go of his arm at just the right time to ensure he landed well away from Al without risking getting dragged to the floor with him. Jack lifted his head cautiously, saw one dog by each of his hands while a younger, blonde haired woman looking down at him with thinly veiled amusement.

"Nice teamwork," she remarked to no one in particular, though Jack thought that she was the wrong person to be making that distinction given that corporal was presumably the most junior of the three ranks. "Thanks for the introduction Meg," she added, laughing blue eyes and a merry smile making the whole situation appear less serious. Jack dared to move his hand, hoping to reach his gun, a dog growled and Jack found his wrist trapped under Maggie's boot: "Not so fast, sir," she said, and Jack noticed that the blue eyes were still glinting, but no longer laughing.

"I can explain," Jack said weakly, even though he knew he couldn't - at least not without drugging them afterwards, but he'd never had a problem with making people whom he didn't know, and even those he did, forget.

Al chose that moment to moan miserably from where the Superintendent had sat her down. Fraser went over and looked at her carefully.

"Dehydration and exhaustion," he said succinctly.

Meg nodded and rummaged in the bag that one of the dogs not guarding one of Jack's hands had brought over, pulling out two bottles of water and a small bag of paper sachets. She handed one of the bottles and two different sachets to Fraser who promptly emptied the sachets' contents into the water, replaced the lid and shook the bottle vigorously.

"Here, drink this," he said, kneeling next to Al.

Al accepted the offered bottle and took a cautious sip. She pulled a face.

"Yes, I know," Fraser said gently, "but it's what you need: basically an isotonic drink without the fizz and artificial flavouring. Drink as much as you can."

Al nodded silently and Jack watched as she forced herself to drink almost the entire bottle, despite the fact that it clearly was as disgusting as her first reaction had indicated.

"What was in it?" she gasped once she'd finished. Jack would never admit it, but he had been wondering exactly the same thing. Meg handed her the other bottle and Al took a grateful sip.

"Sugar and salt, approximate ratio four grams to two and half a litre of water," Fraser replied succinctly. "Carrying the ingredients is more versatile than carrying something specially."

"I will have to remember that," Al said, glad that the taste had been fairly easily washed away.

"Now," Meg said, straightening up and looking sternly down at Jack who was still sprawled face down on the ground, "explanations."

Jack groaned.

"Could I at least sit up," he said, "I've no objection to this position, really, I don't, but the middle of a forest doesn't really do anything for me." He watched the faces he could see, noting with amusement that the Sergeant looked blank, the Superintendent frowned and Al sighed. If anyone had asked him, he would have guessed that the Corporal, Maggie, had rolled her eyes.

"Of course," Fraser said, voice bland, "but we might start by asking you to explain two unregistered firearms."

"Actually it's three," Jack said with a sigh, "although the third is not something that can be used in a hurry."

"Maggie," Meg said, "would you care to do the honours?"

Jack held his tongue while she patted him down, relieving him of his ankle holster and removing the revolver from its holster at his waist. She also emptied his pockets, saying nothing about the strange assortment of objects that she came up with. She slipped all but two of the cartridges from the revolver, weighed the gun carefully and without warning fired a shot. Jack flinched, but saw with interest that the dogs and the other two police officers didn't twitch.

"Nice," Maggie remarked, the gun once more held at her side. Jack didn't flinch quite so much the second time she fired, although there was as little warning as the first time. "Here," she passed the gun and a cartridge to the Sergeant who loaded the round into the chamber, before he almost mirrored the Corporal's actions and a third shot rang out. He looked at the most senior officer, an eyebrow raised with an unspoken question. A soft sigh, seen rather than heard, and she held out her hands; the Sergeant placing the gun in one while the corporal placed a cartridge into the other.

She moved more slowly than the other two, taking more time to aim before firing. Even Al didn't flinch when the fourth report rang out.

"What was that all about?" Al asked after a moment's silence during which the gun was returned to Maggie who tucked it into her belt.

"Do you want to see?" Maggie asked. "You too," she added, looking down at Jack who was relieved when the dogs stepped back from his wrists and made no objection as he eased himself up. Fraser offered him a hand and then kept hold of one wrist as they walked carefully through the forest for about forty metres, Maggie supporting Al with an arm around her waist.

"Whoa," he said when they reached a young tree whose trunk had the marks of four bullet holes within an area about the size of a small mobile telephone, "that's from three different people, a gun they've never used before and almost at the limit of its range. To say I am impressed would be an understatement."

"Let that be a warning," Meg said crisply.

"Yes, Ma'am," Jack replied, his voice entirely serious.

"Now," Meg continued, "it's high time we sat down and heard some explanations."

They returned to where they'd left the packs that the three mounties had brought with them and Jack, with some input from Al, recounted how he had come to Inuvik because of a temporal pattern in their missing persons' records, further analysis of which indicated that there was a break in the fabric of reality in the area.

"Like the portals between this world and Narnia?" Maggie asked, "although they are fictional," she added hastily.

"Basically, yes," Jack agreed, deciding that the analogy conveyed the basic idea sufficiently well.

He'd gone through, deliberately, and had found Al and forty three desiccated corpses beside a strange machine which he believed had been responsible for the gateway. He and Al had managed to turn the machine off and, with a bit of luck, had succeeded in slipping back through the gateway just as it closed.

Once Jack had finished, they all sat in silence for a few long minutes.

"It's incredible," Maggie said softly, absently stroking the dog sitting next to her.

"Yes," Fraser agreed.

"Not exactly an explanation that's going to read well in a report," Meg remarked dryly, and Jack could see her point and appreciate that as the senior officer, she would have to handle the paperwork. "Well, we'd best be getting back," she added after another minute's quiet. Fraser stood, offered a hand to help the Superintendent up, and nodded to Maggie who silently offered Jack back both guns and the items from his pockets.

"Thanks," he said, shoving the ankle holster into a pocket along with the miscellaneous objects, before swiftly returning the revolver to its holster.

They all had a drink of water and a snack of beef jerky before they set out to retrace Al's steps back towards Inuvik. The dogs in the lead and Maggie next, followed by Jack and Al, with Meg and Fraser bringing up the rear. They were quiet for most of the journey although Jack was aware of whispered conversations between the two mounties behind him.

"Nice work with the knife marks," Fraser remarked at one point.

"Yes, well, I wanted to be able to have at least one fairly reliable exit route," Al replied.

It took Jack a few minutes to understand what was being referred to, but, having been made aware of something to look out for, it didn't take him long to spot the shallow cuts on some of the branches, always in pairs on two consecutive trees.

"What is it with the pattern?" he asked softly.

"You know my name; take a closer look," Al retorted, equally quietly.

"Clever girl," Jack said after another two sets, grinning.

When they eventually reached the road after several rests to not push Al too hard, the three mounties conferred briefly.

"Would you two like to have dinner with us this evening?" Fraser asked.

"What's the harm?" Jack replied.

"OK, if it's not an inconvenience," Al accepted with more reticence, but more grace.

"We'll collect you at seven from where Al's staying."

Jack and Al nodded, it was nearing five now and they would have enough time to get cleaned up and change before seven. Without further discussion, they turned and started on the last few kilometres back to Inuvik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I was stuck for so long: I knew where I wanted Al to go - in a vague geographical/experience sense - but really struggled for a vaguely realistic, but not too mundane, idea. Instead, while binging on Torchwood, I came up with an unrealistic idea.
> 
> I hope the mounties come across as competent, because they really are. Also, I have deliberately not explained much about Jack Harkness's background or Torchwood; if you are unfamiliar with Torchwood, then you're only meeting Jack Harkness as the Frasers are. I would be interested to hear if it works/makes sense.


	7. Being Called Out

After they'd eaten, Jack made tea and fetched Robbie and Caroline a glass of milk each before they were sent to bed. The children drank their milk in seconds, but the tea was still steeping. Ray and Maggie took the kids upstairs and put them to bed. On their return, Jack poured tea for everyone except himself.

"Don't drink," Fraser said after his first sip.

"Why not?" Ray asked, knowing his friend well enough to at least pause, cup halfway to his mouth.

"Drugged," Maggie said shortly with a glance at her brother who nodded slightly.

"Care to explain?" Meg asked Jack, her tone somewhere on the border between hostile and venomous.

"Not really," Jack said, as nonchalantly as he could, despite the fact that the tasteless, scentless amnesia pills dissolved in the tea had been detected for the first time in over a hundred years of use, "but I need you to forget everything from the past few days."

"The dogs would tell us," Maggie interjected.

"And you'd believe them?" Jack was barely able to believe what he was hearing.

"Yes," Meg and Ray said simultaneously and immediately though Jack noted with wry amusement that their tones were completely different: Meg was confident and definite while Ray's voice was flat and resigned, as if it was a burden he bore because it was inescapable.

"Shit," Jack said, running a hand distractedly through his hair and ignoring the disapproving look from Sergeant Fraser. "No one must know what happened up Carter Stream."

"You know, you could try trusting people," Al said softly, green and brown eyes gentle.

"Not an option," Jack retorted, voice hard. "I mean it, really not an option," he repeated when no one appeared prepared to accept his decision.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long few minutes. Ray glanced at his wife and his brother-in-law before speaking:

"Go ask your colleague exactly how many people know the identity of Maggie's father. She might not be able to find out herself, for all that you seem to have the resources of several of the big government agencies combined."

That startled a snort of amusement from Jack:

"The advantage of a small organisation," he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Or, perhaps more simply, look at our files - you won't have to dig very deep to find out that at least one of us can keep secrets," Meg interjected, meeting Jack's eyes with a look that made him realise that he probably should have taken at least a cursory glance at the information Gwen had sent him because Superintendent Meg Thatcher at least had seen terrible things - probably human - about which she could not talk, not even to her husband. He sighed, stood and walked into the hallway to make another call to Gwen.

"Was mine drugged too?" Al asked, once the door had swung closed behind Jack, offering her cup to Benton who took a small sip and shook his head.

"I wonder why not?" Al murmured, not really expecting an answer.

"I guess you'll have to ask Captain Harkness," Maggie said when no one else spoke.

By the time Jack returned from the hallway, Benton was ensconced in what was probably his normal armchair with Ray in another. Both men were silent, listening to the three women discussing what to write in the official report: since Al's disappearance had been logged, they needed to write something to close the case. He stood leaning against the doorjamb for a few minutes, his great-coat folded over his arm, unheeded.

"You seem to know more about what happened than any of us," Meg remarked suddenly, looking up eyes sharp. Jack again thought that his original assessment of her had been pretty much spot on: smart, pretty and direct, though now he'd at least consider adding tough and just a little bit intimidating to the description - not that he had anything against strong women.

"Leave me out of it," Jack said, his sharp tone and haunted eyes leaving no doubt that arguments would not be heeded.

"But what are we to say?" Maggie asked, "we can't just lie about the entire thing."

"You'll think of something," Jack said with a shrug. "Thank you for the meal, but I really must be going."

"Where to?" Al asked, confused: there weren't many places that he could go and his flight out wasn't until the morning.

"Does it matter?" Jack shot back, shrugging on his coat. 

Al was silent, unable to come up with an answer.

"Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't," Benton had been quiet since he'd detected the amnesia drug in their tea, and his calm voice surprised even Jack into pausing, hands at his coat collar while everyone at the table looked at him.

"So what're you going to do? stalk me?" Jack taunted,

"No," Benton said evenly, still sitting calmly in his armchair, "if you hadn't realised, dogs are far more efficient at tracking than humans are at stalking."

"And we have four here who are always eager for some exercise," Maggie added, blue eyes sparkling despite her husband's warning hand on her arm. Her statement was greeted by four yips of agreement. 

"Damn dogs," Jack muttered, unheeded and softly enough that even sharp Mountie ears didn't hear enough to make sense of the words, "means I have to trust you since I can't make them forget and you seem to understand them _and_ believe what they tell you." He shook his head in disgust. "Well," he said loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'm going regardless, if you want to dispute that, you'd better be willing to look down the barrel of a loaded gun without blinking."

Meg and Benton shared a look; Maggie glanced at Benton, Meg, her husband and then back at her brother who shook his head ever so slightly.

"I think we'll forgo that pleasure," Benton said dryly as he stood up. "But if you don't mind company for part of the way, I'll take the dogs and have a wander round town, make sure that everything is quiet. I may as well do it now as in an hour's time," he added, seeing that Maggie was about to speak.

He crossed the room, stopping to clasp Meg's hand briefly and place a gentle kiss on her cheek as he passed. Jack looked away, trying to hide from the memories of running out without a word of explanation. The four dogs trotted in circles around Jack's feet as they waited for Fraser to shrug on a light jacket and collect his hat before he let them out the door.

The two men walked in silence for a few moments, Jack determined to out wait his companion.

"It's never easy to lose someone you care about and then carry on," Fraser said eventually, causing Jack to freeze for the second time in a handful of minutes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said as lightly as he could as he resumed walking.

"I don't know who, I don't know when or where, or what happened, but you lost someone for whom you cared deeply. You're good at hiding it, but you haven't mourned properly and it's eating away at you." Benton's voice was quiet but firm.

Jack said nothing, just lengthened his stride; Sergeant Fraser was fifty-two, he would not be able to keep up.

"When you stop running, you'll be able to accept what happened," Benton remarked after a few strides, still keeping pace with Jack. "My father, the original Sergeant Fraser, was murdered," he continued after a moment's pause, "we hadn't spoken for several months; the next time I saw him was to identify his body." He shrugged, as if the action would shift the memories. "It took me years, four years and eight months, to be precise, to come to terms with and accept that he was gone forever. But I never despaired, or gave up. I held to my oath and did my duty, found my sister. I don't know why I'm telling you this," he said, shaking his head and frowning as he realised that he'd just given this strange man the clue to the identity of Maggie's father. "Usually at such junctures I tell someone else's story; you're one of the very few people I've told my own to."

"Never try to con a conman," Jack said with a mirthless laugh, "not that it matters now. Nearly everyone I ever loved is dead, the few still living will die soon enough. Knowing it doesn't mean I have to see it."

"Captain Jack Harkness," Fraser stopped mid-stride, his voice sharp and challenging, "that last comment justifies calling you a coward."

Jack whirled on this busybody sergeant, drawing the Webley the three Mounties had been showing off with earlier in the day and pulling the hammer back in one fluid movement. Blue eyes that must have once been as bright as his own but had paled slightly as their owner's hair greyed, looked at the old revolver and the steady hands that held it. Four dogs quickly gathered in a semi-circle behind Jack, growling deeply.

"Pearson, it's OK," Fraser said, not moving. The growling subsided as the dogs arranged themselves neatly two on each side of Jack, although the tension in their bodies indicated that they were prepared to spring at the slightest provocation.

Fraser raised his eyes from the gun to meet Jack's gaze. He wondered idly why Jack carried an old Webley revolver, popular throughout the British Empire in its time, but almost antiquated now, rather than a more modern gun with more rounds. He smiled ever so slightly but said nothing and Jack was surprised by the complete absence of fear in the other man's eyes: sadness and regret, yes, but not fear. It wasn't daring or not caring, just calm acceptance that perhaps now was the end of the road.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"Because you know I'm right," Benton replied without hesitation, his eyes unblinking.

Jack kept the gun raised for another long moment, before he flipped it over and returned it to the holster at his waist as quickly as he had produced it.

"Yes, you're right," he said with a sigh, recognising that when Fraser had said that they would forego the pleasure of staring down the barrel of a gun, he had been as serious as Jack had been in issuing the threat. He now suspected the Sergeant had spoken not only for himself, but also for Maggie, who was surely his sister, and his wife, the Superintendent. They were a strange bunch.

"Shall we?" Fraser asked, indicating the road ahead with one hand.

After a few steps, Jack started talking, not about his work or where he came from, or about his immortality and the many lives he'd lived and the many loves he'd lost, but about the small things with Ianto, whom he couldn't forget and always felt he was disappointing.

Benton listened carefully, not judging, just allowing Jack to revisit the memories that made his time with Ianto so tragically short. "He was so damn brave, stubborn and loyal." Jack concluded, his voice thick, "and I got him killed; I'd never really let him know that I didn't take him for granted." Benton let the silence stretch, not glancing at his companion who, if nothing else, did not seem to avoid caring for people and the heartache that almost inevitably followed. "I don't know why I told you that," Jack said in a more normal tone, after a few moments silence, though he made no attempt to brush the tears from his cheeks. Fraser knew a lot had been left out of the story, including what they actually did in Cardiff, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't important.

"What do you intend to do now?" Fraser asked, curious to see whether talking over the good times and the bad had helped.

"I don't know," Jack was resigned. "I've been trying to avoid going back to doing all of what we did before, though we're still doing some stuff - like what brought me out here. Dealing with the bigger stuff might be worth it, but it's dangerous work, and I get my colleagues killed."

"Everyone dies," Fraser said pragmatically, ignoring the soft snort from the man walking by his side.

"You said farewell to the Superintendent when you left to come out here, didn't you?" Jack asked, suddenly understanding that there had been a deeper message in the almost mundane exchange he'd witnessed.

"Yes," Fraser admitted, rubbing a thumbnail backwards across his eyebrow. "I have a habit of cutting things fine."

"So you always say good bye."

Fraser nodded and Jack was quiet, thinking back over his time with Ianto. How often had he walked out without saying good bye by look or action? Not that it had mattered, he couldn't not come back, but that still was no guarantee that the team would all be there when he got back. Only a handful of times, he realised with something approaching relief. He was strangely comforted: he may not have said how he felt in as many words until it was too late, but he was pretty sure that Ianto had known - they all had known. He remembered when he used to come back and Ianto would ask whether he had been killed, how, if the answer was affirmative, he would step forward and hug him tight. They were the only times when Ianto, normally so reserved and private, would show affection regardless of who was there to see; comfort given freely without regret. Coming back to life alone was never pleasant, but coming back to life with no one to go back to - the Sergeant had a point.

Benton let the silence stretch and they walked on companionably.

"Thank you," Jack said when they once again saw the Frasers' house.

The sergeant's blue-grey eyes were distant and he refocused with an apparent effort. "Please, don't mention it," he said quietly. "Will you come back in for some hot chocolate?"

"Have you anything stronger?" Jack asked: he'd just bared his soul - or at least part of it - to someone whom he couldn't drug and erase the memory; if he was going to hang around, even for a few hours, he would need more than hot chocolate, even though it would mean breaking an ingrained habit.

"There should be some Scotch stashed somewhere," Fraser said, "we keep it against the visit my father's old partner is always threatening us with."

"Works for me," Jack said with a laugh.

The rest of the evening passed off more calmly than might have been expected. While they'd been out, the three women, with minimal input from Ray, to whom the washing up had fallen, had drafted an account of Al's disappearance and reappearance that seemed at least vaguely plausible. Jack read the account twice, noting with amusement that Al, the least experienced, had clearly had the largest input into masking the strange truth of her experiences. Sergeant Fraser still seemed a little uncomfortable with the omissions that he knew were there, but he was over-ruled; the story was plausible and since Al had returned safely to Inuvik, the details would not be scrutinised too closely.

The whiskey was dug out, Ray and Al joined Jack in making inroads into the bottle's contents, the two Margarets each had a small glass, only Fraser steadily refused to partake and after the third refusal, Jack stopped offering. 

He left shortly after midnight, spent the sleepless hours of pale light sitting by the river, listening to its incessant flow, letting the unchanging drift of the water lull him into the trance like state that was as close to sleep as he got most nights, remembering the good months when he'd slept more than he had in years before or since, safe by Ianto's side.


	8. Farewells

Three am. Benton forced himself to not groan; even several years after she had last needed to wake quickly and efficiently, Meg was a very light sleeper, and he would not wake her if he could help it. An hour of lying still later and sleep had continued to be elusive, the thoughts that had been running round his head since the previous evening refusing to be quietened. He sat up gently.

"What time is it?" Meg murmured, eyes closed, though Benton would have vouched they had flickered open for a fraction of a second until her surroundings had been confirmed.

"Barely four," he murmured back as he swung his legs out from under the covers. "I've got a note to write," he continued, in reply to an extremely quiet groan from his wife.

"Harkness?"

"Yes."

"He's hurting," Meg stated, eyes still closed.

"I know, that's why I think I should write, he told some of his story last night." Benton leant over and dropped a kiss on the top of Meg's head. "Go back to sleep, I'll see you at breakfast," he said before he collected up some clothes and slipped quietly out of the room.

On his arrival, Jack Harkness had avoided all contact with the locals, walking from the airport to the town, on his departure, that wasn't an option. Instead, he had been obliged to accept a lift from the area's most senior police officer. What he hadn't quite counted on was being seen off by almost everyone whom he had met since he'd arrived. They picked him up on the south edge of town: the superintendent was driving, the front passenger seat empty, for him. Al and Ray sat on the back seat with two of the dogs. Maggie and Sergeant Fraser sat in the flatbed, facing backwards, leaning against the cab, legs stretched out in front of them, each with an arm around a dog. The three mounties were in full dress uniforms: red tunics, brown belts, holsters, long boots: Jack was surprised but said nothing; despite not thinking much of the uniforms.

Jack raised an eyebrow as he climbed in: "Morning, Ma'am," he said politely, "Al, Detective," he nodded to the two on the back seat. "I must admit I'm surprised the sergeant is inclined to let this overburdened truck go anywhere, he seems far too safety conscious for that," he remarked, only half serious as he settled his bag on his feet.

"Sergeant Fraser's a law unto himself," Meg responded dryly. "He also cares less for his own safety than for others'. But in the grand scheme of things this morning's arrangement is comparatively low risk; the kids are back at the station, being spoilt rotten." Jack nodded and she handed him a sheaf of papers: "Draft of the official report, I hope it's satisfactory." He took the papers and fastened his seatbelt as Meg put the truck into gear and set off.

A quarter of an hour later, she pulled up at the edge of the runway. Maggie, Benton and the two dogs were on the ground almost before the truck had stopped, certainly before Meg had put the handbrake on. The others got out more slowly, doors and seat belts hindering their swift exit. There was no rush, after all. Jack left the papers on the seat; as a police report went, he was fine with it.

They walked slowly towards the waiting plane, Sergeant Fraser and Jack slightly ahead of the others, the dogs chasing each other round in circles, but staying close. From the few words he heard, Jack gathered that Al and Meg were telling Ray and Maggie about meeting in London: Meg seemed to be doing most of the talking, though her descriptions were terse and to the point, with Al adding in the odd detail or explaining something from her point of view when Maggie (usually) asked for confirmation.

"You're a dangerous man to know, Captain Harkness," Benton said after a few strides.

"Which is why I really shouldn't know anyone," Jack replied sourly.

"No," Fraser countered, "which is why you should make sure they know what they risk before you become more than a passing acquaintance. And why you should be kind if at all possible," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Now you're reminding me of something I read many years ago. I can't remember most of it, but being kind stuck."

"If you remembered, then the statement resonated - you recognised the truth," Fraser said pragmatically.

Jack shrugged, there were more painful memories associated with the line of thought. It wasn't necessarily that he actively wanted to forget, he just didn't want to think about them. They came to a halt about twenty metres from the aeroplane and turned to face back the way they'd come. The others stopped a metre or so away, the three police officers almost shoulder to shoulder in a solid line, a dog sitting smartly by each pair of feet, Al slightly off to one end.

"I guess this is goodbye," Meg said after a short pause.

"Yeah," Jack said with a sigh, "I've got to get going. Thank you for putting up with me, even after I tried to drug you," he said with a short laugh.

"Think nothing of it," apparently it was Ray's turn to be spokesperson.

Jack bid them farewell, shaking hands, noting the details of the uniforms, all slightly different, but all with a good number of badges - he would have to look at their files for himself when he got back; Gwen might have told him everything that he had needed to know, but he had a suspicion that he was standing in front of some of the RCMP's finest officers, though why they were currently hanging out in the back of beyond seemed inconsistent if his suspicion was correct. He was surprised at himself when he turned back to Fraser and realised that he hadn't made a single suggestive or flirtatious remark. He usually enjoyed making others squirm, but these four police officers, the three Canadians in particular, had been so unfailingly polite, despite his rudeness, that he just couldn't bring himself to not return the favour at the end.

"Safe travels," the American detective had said, still slightly hostile, but he sounded like he meant it.

"Yeah, take care, and thank you for preventing Benton from doing something stupid and getting hurt," Maggie had been next.

"To repeat what Maggie's just said, thank you," the Superintendent's gaze was earnest. "And don't forget the hurt and the cruelty; if we did, we'd forget to fight for the good." Jack thought it a strange message and wondered whether her husband had broken faith. Apparently something of his thought showed in his face because she added: "I have eyes, Captain, I may not be as perceptive as my husband, but do notice a few things from time to time." He nodded, wondering exactly what she had seen but couldn't talk about: all Gwen had been able to find out in the few minutes he'd given her had been that she'd been with the CSIS. The would be able to dig up more, but he was starting to think that, in this case at least, it was worth respecting the bounds and protections that the secrecy was surely part of.

He turned to the sergeant, expecting more unearned sympathy, almost unwelcome understanding and well intentioned words of advice. He was not disappointed.

"Being kind and being nice are two different things," Fraser said seriously. "As Meg's just said, being human, recognising humanity, involves both the good and the bad. Do not hide from what you are; sometimes the least worst option is all that can be taken, even if it brings unimaginable pain."

"Thank you, sir," Jack said, strangely touched. "Thank you, all of you." He met and held their gazes briefly. "I really do not deserve the kindness and courtesy you have shown me, but thank you." The three Canadians glanced at each other and nodded, the haunted look in his eyes was still there, would probably always be there, they suspected, but it was less despairing than it had been when they'd first met him.

"Safe journey, Jack," Al said, watching the others and feeling very small and uncertain, even though she knew she would see him again.

Jack walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. 

"I'll see you in two days," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

He stepped back, stood straight, saluted smartly, with a wink to Al, and walked swiftly to the waiting plane.

"Take care of yourself," Al whispered with a slight smile, watching as the strange, almost otherworldly man climbed into the small aircraft and tossed his bag carelessly into the cargo space.

The aircraft taxied to the start of the run way and the five watching humans all raised a hand in farewell. Perhaps unseen, perhaps not, Jack mirrored their motion. Leaning back in the hard seat, he walked down the paths of memory and then into possibilities for the future.

"Well, that's done," Maggie said with a sigh as Eliza yawned widely at Meg's feet.

"And not before time," Ray said, "he was a bit of a prick."

"There's no need to be rude," Fraser said primly.

"Ow!" Ray yelped when Maggie turned and punched him lightly on the arm.

"But you were thinking exactly the same," Ray said, a whiny note creeping into his voice.

"He's grieving," Meg said quietly, earning herself a sharp look from the other two mounties.

"Did Fraser tell you that?" Ray asked.

"No, as I told Jack, it's plain to see," Meg replied, cutting off her husband's protests.

"If you know where to look," Maggie added.

"Oh, I give up," Ray said with a groan. "Lunch?" he added after a moment. The others shrugged and they trooped back to the truck.

High above, the plane turned south, and Jack Harkness thought back over the last few days. His thoughts were less with the strange gap in reality that he and Al had both stepped through twice and which he hoped was now closed forever, than with the police officers and Al. He remembered everything the sergeant had said, and still wondered why he'd ended up in the of beyond and why his wife and superior officer had acquiesced. But it wasn't really important.

He thought back to the way blue-grey eyes - darker than Ianto's had been - in an impassive face had looked down the barrel of his gun without flinching: no trace of fear, no hint that he would plead, just acceptance, a bit of sorrow and a whole ocean of regret, but not for himself. Ianto had been remarkably similar - well fear had been there, and sadness too - but he hadn't raged against it: an early grave was par for the course with the work they'd done. Of them all, Ianto had accepted his own death with the most grace, regretting the lost future, but not regretting his sacrifice or the manner of his death. He wondered whether that was part of what had pushed him to kill Steven: Ianto's death had been pointless and could have been avoided; killing Steven had been more traumatic but had hurt less in the wake of loosing Ianto.

He felt tears fill his eyes and slide unheeded down his cheeks: how he missed Ianto. Even now, years later, it often felt almost unbearable. He dug in an inside pocket of his coat and drew out three photos, two from Gwen's wedding and a mug shot from the archives. He traced Ianto's jaw with a finger tip: how young and innocent he looked, uncertain and serious at the same time; he'd lost some of the innocence over the following few years, but some of uncertainty, deference almost, had remained until the end. The second was of him and Ianto in serious conversation part way through Gwen's wedding: they'd been discussing exactly what they should do afterwards, Jack thought, deciding that causing all the guests to forget a wedding was the only practical solution. It captured Ianto perfectly, Jack thought: they were both focussed, Ianto unsmiling while Jack was smiling slightly, relishing the challenge and already amused by imagining Gwen's reaction when she found out.

He turned slowly to the last photograph, it was of all six of his original team, towards the end of the contained disaster that had been Gwen's wedding. Gwen and her husband Rhys were in the centre, the team's medic and technical officer on the other side of Rhys while he stood next to Gwen with Ianto on his other side. They were all smiling, but such different smiles: relief, satisfaction at a job well done, relief and sheer happiness - Gwen and her husband; Jack himself was beaming with pride and satisfaction - it had been a good day, despite the drama. Ianto, Jack's arm round his shoulders, had a relaxed half smile rather than a broad grin; he was always thinking ahead, and had known they still had amnesia drugs to administer.

Slipped behind the last photo was a slip of paper. Jack frowned, those photos were kept in a concealed pocket, close to his heart, no one was meant to be able to find them, never mind the questions of opportunity and detection.

He unfolded it anyway, intrigued, though he though he could already guess the person responsible; a guess that was confirmed by a quick glance at the bottom of the A5 page. It was from Sergeant Fraser. Curious, though a little apprehensive, Jack took a deep breath and started to read. The elegant script reminded him of the neat Victorian and Edwardian handwriting that had formed his early records and were now, probably, no more.

_"0430; -- July 2014; Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada,_

_Dear Captain Harkness," the note started formally._

_"I know you think you have been responsible for the deaths of many whom you have loved, but though they may have lived if they had never known you, unless you actually killed them yourself or forced them to follow you or obey your orders under duress, they knew, accepted and chose to run the risk."_

Jack snorted, it was a load of nonsense. The sergeant didn't have a clue what he'd done to Steven, an innocent child, his life barely started. He wanted to screw the note up and throw it into some corner of the plane to be swept up as rubbish when the plane was next cleaned thoroughly, but something made him desist.

_"Just to look at you, with the grief so near the surface, reminds me of just how cruel the world can be - and how much harsher it is because so many are afraid to show their feelings. Do not be afraid: without honesty no relationship is worthwhile. But, to quote someone far more eloquent than I am:_

_""Better by far that you should forget and smile,  
Than you should remember and be sad."_

_(Christina Rosetti) I am not suggesting that you should ever deliberately try to forget those whom you have loved and lost, but to not let grief prevent you from living._

_"Be assured that apart from the official report- the draft of which you have seen, and perhaps a few conversations among those who were directly involved, no mention shall be made of the events of the past few days._

_"Please accept our best wishes._

_"Yours sincerely,_

_Sgt. B. Fraser, RCMP."_

Jack folded the note up and returned to the three photographs. He had a few hours until he could do anything; he was going to wallow for a bit, then start looking to the future.


	9. A letter in the post

When Superintendent Meg Thatcher and Sergeant Benton Fraser stepped off the plane each took a deep breath and sighed, watching their three dogs bound away across the runway. They were home, finally, after tying up the last loose end from their previous postings. The trial had dragged on and they'd both been called on to give evidence, not just once, but again and again, a dozen times over the course of three weeks.

"I hate corruption trials," Meg said, stretching to work the residual stiffness out of her muscles.

"I know," Benton said softly, tiredly, "I'm just glad to be back."

"Me too," Meg agreed. She shook her head briefly and picked up her pack. "Come on, time to go home."

Her husband followed her lead, and they strolled slowly across the tarmac, Meg linking her arm with Benton's after a few strides. They picked up the RCMP truck Chris had left in one of the hangers and in a few minutes were on their way back to Inuvik.

They dropped the truck back at the detachment and walked on to their house, finding Pearson, Eliza and Clark sitting at the top of the steps, tails gently sweeping back and forth. Opening the front door, they found a small pile of post waiting on the door mat. Not that it was unexpected since they had been away for three weeks, but it meant that various bills already paid, bank statements that they barely needed to glance at, some circulars and the odd personal missive had accumulated in a messy pile that only became more disorganised as the door was forced open.

Meg picked them up and sorted through them as Benton walked through to the kitchen to put down water for the dogs. She split the pile according to category, handing a postcard from Ray Vecchio to Benton and keeping hold of a letter in an unknown hand.

Benton read the postcard, chuckling slightly at a strange phrase, shaking his head at his friend's insistence at writing in almost incomprehensible jargon.

"What is it?" Benton asked, seeing the intense look of concentration on his wife's face as she examined the letter that she'd kept hold of when she'd placed the rest of the mail on the hall table.

"This letter," she said slowly, handing it to Benton, "who do you think it's from?"

Benton turned the letter over slowly, recognising the British stamp from the postcards they'd sent to Maggie and Buck from London. The handwriting was neat, but not without character which indicated that their correspondent had either been trained to have character, or had otherwise decided to not conform to the generic modern roundhand. As far as he could tell, it had been posted in Wales, though whether that was where it had been written was another matter.

"We can open it, but I think you'll find it's from Al," Benton said after a moment's consideration.

"Well open it," Meg prompted, rolling her eyes.

Fraser fished in a pocket for his knife, flicked it open and slid the tip of the blade carefully under one corner of the flap. He handed the opened envelope to Meg who extracted a single piece of heavy cream paper, written closely on both sides, while Fraser folded the knife and returned it to his pocket.

"Al recommends sitting down before reading," Meg said after a few seconds.

"So I suggest we do as she suggests," Benton remarked dryly, gesturing Meg ahead of him to the main room where they sat together on the sofa.

"Well," he prompted when Meg didn't unfold the letter immediately.

"I don't know whether I want to know," Meg admitted, her voice soft and sad. Fraser held a hand out and she placed the paper in it, snuggling into her husband's warmth when he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

Fraser glanced over the missive without really reading it, scanning for words that would indicate that things were not well. Finding nothing that suggested that Al had come to harm or was otherwise distressed, he started to read the letter aloud, starting with the date and location - Cardiff, Wales, UK.

" _Dear Meg and Benton,_ " she'd written, " _(for that is how Jack says I should address you since Benton is too formal for his own good)._ " Meg chuckled slightly but Benton refused to comment. " _There is so much that I cannot say, but I would like to thank you again for breaking convention on London Bridge all those months ago, and the effort you went to to try to find me on my more recent visit to Inuvik._

_Unfortunately, I can give you no further explanation of what happened to me, but Benton should not worry. I would say that no lasting damage has been done, but I would be lying - a fairly comprehensive reevaluation of one's world view is not that easily recovered from. However, please be assured that the experience has not been so traumatic as one might think, mostly due to Jack and the organisation that he runs and which I have now joined._

_For many reasons, most of which I do not fully understand, I am not able to say more about what I will be doing, probably for the entire of my working life. I won't say career because it really is a niche area with only a handful of organisations even aware of much of what we know and most - if not all - of them do not know that Jack has 'rebuilt' something he was involved in several years ago, so there is not much chance of progression beyond my current role. But that is not important, I've never considered myself particularly ambitious and doing an interesting job that has some meaning is a huge step up from what I even considered possible this time last year._

_Jack is worried that the Northwest Territories are a particularly sensitive area and would appreciate it if you could let us know of unexpected phenomena, inexplicable disappearances and strange visitors. I will leave you to imagine what he means by that - he said Benton at least would understand although he admits it is not exactly the easiest concept to accept. But since he could not erase your memories of meeting him, you have, after a fashion, chosen to suffer from the extra knowledge. Or at least that's what Jack says when he's in one of his more despondent moods. Despite the apparent universal good humour he can portray, he really is very moody; I think he's lost too many people and feels responsible for all those whom he cannot protect._ "

"He has," Meg murmured, interrupting for the first time, when Benton hesitated to continue.

" _Anyway, thank you again for your care and consideration at both our meetings. Despite Jack's forebodings, I hope Inuvik and the surrounding areas continue to be peaceful and safe for many years to come._

_All the best,_

_Al._ "

The only other information was a phone number - presumably Al's with a comment " _For emergency use only._ "

They sat motionless for a long moment, considering the news - or rather lack of news - in Al's letter, before Fraser picked up the envelope from the arm of the sofa. Shaking it gently, a folded slip of thin paper drifted out. Carefully unfolding it one handed, he was faced with a different handwriting - neat copperplate:

" _You've probably guessed that I approved Al's letter - every word of it - though I do wish I could have persuaded her to leave one sentence out. Keep safe, I hope the world does not end on your watch - or even tries to. If you come across anything suspicious, please send a note with long' and lat' and a brief description - but nothing too explicit - to: 'I. Jones, c/o Welsh Tourist Board, Cardiff, Wales, UK' and it will reach us. In an emergency, phone Al. Cpt. J. Harkness_ "

"Well, that's that," Meg said eventually.

"Yes," Fraser agreed, a little uneasily. "At least Al's found some purpose for her life."

Meg nodded, unable to shift the sad suspicion that it would be a short one. "I. Jones - that was the guy Captain Harkness lost, right?" she asked after a moment's consideration.

"Yes, his name was Ianto."

"Funny way of remembering him, using his name for secure communications." Taking a dead person's name was one of the simplest ways to create a false identity, but usually such subterfuge involved strangers, not a dead lover.

"Maybe, maybe not," Fraser murmured contemplatively, "Jones is a common name in Wales, and Harkness isn't, if he's planning on keeping his entire work out of view of some well connected and well funded organisations, then it's not a bad cover."

"But they knew of him, right?" Meg questioned with a frown.

"Almost certainly, but such details are easily forgotten - especially if records are wiped and staff move around a lot," Benton trailed off, not really wanting to consider too closely what the mysterious Captain Jack Harkness had done and could do: the explosion at the detachment, instigated by someone keen to keep the type of knowledge Jack Harkness was well versed in secret, was still fresh in his mind.

"We must let Maggie know that Al's safely back in Britain," Meg stated after another long silence.

Benton nodded and placed a kiss on his wife's temple; they did not need to say more on the topic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, done. Not my best, but I hope it passed muster and Jack Harkness' appearance didn't completely confuse things. Thank you for sticking around to the end. KD.


End file.
